Tristan and his mates don't have any Dark Wizards to fight, couldn't be bothered with Quidditch, and find the wild stories about 'The Boy Who Lived' patently absurd. Theirs is the realm of rumours, rebellion, and Recreational Magic.

Apparently, there had been a troll. Only not in the dungeons. And Harry Potter, all of eleven years old, had somehow managed to kill it. But he'd also lost about a million House Points from Gryffindor in the process.

Tristan was confused—he’d been expecting Snape to lecture him about skipping classes, not politely offer tea. Perhaps, thought Tristan, this was some bizarre intimidation tactic. If it was, it was working.

“That one,” Tristan pointed out the youngest Weasley. “Played some chess. And that one,” he indicated to a manic little witch with a lot of hair, “did something clever with potions. The rest has a lot to do with some special rock.”